Fast sailing, slow dinners

Claire Bailey and PlayStation captain took at 20ft Ventilo cat from Antibes to Corsica

Playstation captain David Scully likes fast sailing and slow dinners, so a quick blast across the Med for a romantic dinner in Calvi, Corsica, sounded like a great way to spend an evening.

Unfortunately, his transport for the occasion was not his normaly 125 foot maxi-catamaran, but a 20ft high performance Ventilo sport catamaran. Fortunately, his date was skiff skipper and multihull veteran, Claire Bailey, who cheerfully agreed to make the crossing with him. He persuaded her that they could twin wire the 100 odd miles between mainland France and Corsica in less than eight hours, have a great meal, and be back the next day. Fortunately, the weather was great for a midday departure, and the pair blasted out of Antibes already discussing the choice of entrée. Unfortunately, the fun only lasted for a few hours, and the little boat, named for the compass manufacturer, Tacktick, was left ghosting along in the glazed sea that local sailors recognize as 'la petole'.

Claire takes up the story. "My hopes for a romantic dinner that evening were fading rapidly, and the thought of splitting a packet of fig rolls and two stale Power Bars just didn't have the same appeal.

Alas, this became the least of my worries, as I felt my bladder becoming increasingly full. Of course, being the conscientious medic, I had insisted on us both drinking plenty of fluid to re-hydrate in the blistering heat. As my bladder reached it's elastic limit, I reached for the cooking funnel and tubing device I had invented earlier. Of course it was designed to fit through the fly in my drysuit, and “hey presto”. Without going into too many details, yet another one of my 'good ideas' rapidly bit the dust. However it was a source of much amusement for David as he witnessed the fast ever exit from a Musto drysuit.

Just as the sun was setting we were joined by eight or ten dolphins, surfing around our little boat close enough to touch. Spirits went up, the sun went down, and we settled in for a long night.

David takes over. "Turn back? I felt obliged to ask the question, but with the moon rising, and the calm sea starting to speak it's night sounds, neither of us felt like rejoining the busy parade of the Cote d'Azur. We set watches, and had no trouble sleeping on the trampoline as the hulls cut twin creases in the calm water. Moon set, sun rise, and still no wind disturbed the carpet of mini portuguese men o' war that were so numerous in places they looked like wind ripples in the moonlight. Sea turtles munched busily on these little, purple, jellyfish babies, cleaving the surface of the sea with their oddly upraised flippers. Then it began to get hot..."

Claire says: "In fact, so hot that we decided to get rid of drysuits and thermals, and adapted the boat to shelter us from the frying sun. I looked around, following the horizon, and saw nothing. The sea was like a mirror, blue and clear. The sails draped on the rigging. We could have been anywhere.

Dufdufdufduf. "Sounds like a helicopter", I said to David. "Oh, don't be daft, was his reply, It's a powerboat engine." His confidence reassured me until I actually saw the 'bird' circling us. David did then admit that he was wrong! Good job, really, as two minutes later the helicopter doors opened, and out dropped a diver.

We stowed the empty kite and stood by with the mainsheet in hand, as the downdraft was the most wind we had seen for 14 hours. The diver swam rapidly toward us.

Bonjour, ca va?, said the swimming gendarme, hanging by his elbows from our hull. 'Mais, bien sur', we replied. On receiving our assurance that we were fit and healthy despite being more than 12 hours overdue, he was winched back up to the chopper, and we continued toward Calvi, after a brief spot of skinny dipping!

'Life is life, and fun is fun' thought David, "but I was ready for this trip to be over. The high coastline closed with aching slowness. We rounded Pointe d'Espano doing jibing angles in a light and faltering sea breeze, relying on big boat style trimmer-driver dialogue to maintain concentration and maximize VMG. Finally, we hit the beach just after 1700 hrs."

A bottle of cold water and a beer were at the top of the 'To Do' list, but first we chatted with the local journalist, and posed for the obligatory photo on the boat. The local welcome was so friendly that we were doubly surprised when we opened the Corse-matin newspaper at breakfast the next morning, to see the photo and article, closing with a note that we had broken French law by sailing offshore in a beach cat, and that the police were after us to issue a summons!! In the middle of croissant and coffee, we suddenly felt like Bonnie and Clyde.

What were we to do? Our plan was based on sailing home as soon as we could, and ferries and fines were not in the budget. First we called Pierre, our weather router. 'Don't leave today, don't leave tomorrow,' he said. There may be wind on Friday. So, if we couldn't outrun the cops, we had better confront them. Deeply concerned, we called the reporter, got the name of his contact, and placed a call to Cross-Med, the rescue and sea safety authority for the region.

I explained to the official that this was not a spontaneous event, and that despite the small size of our vessel, we were carrying safety material and supplies that exceeded the French category three requirements for an offshore vessel. Our shore contact had followed correct procedure by reporting us overdue, but he had specifically stated that we were carrying a distress beacon, and had not expressed any concern for our safety. Fortunately, Cross-Med were very understanding, saying that the chopper we had seen had been on routine surveillance, and not specifically sent to rescue us. They gave us permission to depart when we were ready. The paper even published a retraction!

Having safely tested our endurance and the boat, we are now fired up and ready to tackle the TransMed world record attempt around the 18th July 2002.